


Theoretically Sexy

by emei



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emei/pseuds/emei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theoretically, Merlin finds sex to be damn interesting. Practically, however... (Modern AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theoretically Sexy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this promt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/2936.html?thread=1100920#t1100920) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/profile)[**kinkme_merlin**](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/).

 

Merlin is pretty good at talking about sex. He’s had enough practice. Gwen, his sweet partner in bumbling misfortunes from the day he stumbled into university, has spent a lot of time dragging him to coffeeshops and pubs to meet with her intimidating beautiful friend Morgana for discussion times. They used to tell lengthy stories over coffee or beer, all about their respective conquests, and Merlin quickly learnt what comments amused them and what questions moved the story forward. (The one-night-stand retellings stopped when Merlin had been wondering about the lack of them for a while, thought about asking, and then managed to walk in on Gwen pressing Morgana to the wall, kissing her way up her neck. It seemed they had finally conquered each other. It was a silent but very mutual agreement that Merlin didn’t need to know the details.)

 

Merlin never offers any stories of his own. He’ll comment on others’, even happily join the discussion when Morgana invites him along for an evening among her gang of frighteningly clever feminist girls. Tonight is one of those nights, dinner in Morgana’s flat (Lebanese something or other, lots and lots of curious looking little dishes) and intellectual young women with cigarettes and glasses of wine all over the place. Gwen is curled up at Morgana’s side, listening to her talk and offering the odd comment now and then (always down-to-earth, compassionate, pointing out that the enemy of the moment are first and foremost human).

There are wildly advanced discussions on topics such as if heterosexual BDSM sex can ever be considered equal, on the difference between how gay and lesbian sex is conceptualized, etcetera and so on.

 

Merlin is careful not to drink too much wine around this gang (he is such a lightweight and he knows it), and thanks god for the internet. Thanks to wikipedia and some extremely informative forums, he can even offer an educated opinion on things like Japanese bondage techniques. Should anyone ask anything about his personal, real life experiences though, Merlin shuts up like a clam. Like now, the girl with the square glasses (Helen?) says: “Shibari, huh. It seems so complicated. What patterns have you tried?”

Gwen, sitting opposite the girl who might be called Helen, laughs. “Oh, good luck getting that out of him. Despite appearances, Merlin is the most private person I know.” Gwen seems to have accepted this as one of Merlin’s quirks: that while he’s usually open-minded and talkative, he can also be extremely unforthcoming.

 

Morgana on the other hand, has this unnerving habit of smirking at Merlin whenever a situation like this arises. It makes him feel like he’s wearing all his insecurities on the outside like a second skin, blushing red and fragile like rice-paper.

 

The truth is that Merlin hasn’t ever had sex. At all. There must be some useful lessons to learn by falling mindblowingly hard for your best friend at the age of fifteen; for your best friend who doesn’t even consider that anyone with your set of genitalia could be considered attractive in the history of ever. Lab classes in how to have sex are not included among those particular lessons.

 

Theoretically, Merlin finds sex to be damn interesting. Practically, however, he has a tendency to freak out because _he doesn’t know how to do this, oh fuckitall_, and go hide in the bathroom if anyone as much looks at him suggestively on a dance floor. Morgana, who insists on bringing him along on nights out every now and then, says that she despairs of him. Clearly he wants to end up as an anti-social, depressed old spinster. “I do not!” says Merlin. “Prove it,” Morgana says. Gwen sighs at the two of them.

 

Morgana has this stepbrother called Arthur. He’s standing in the door of the flat now, after all of Morgana’s scarily bright entourage have decided to call it a night and left.

“Arthur! What brings you to my humble abode at this time of night?”

“Sophia dumped me,” Arthur says, pushing past Morgana and heading for the living room. “Don’t say you’re sorry because I know you hated her. But she did it during dinner with my _father._ After toasting with him.”

“Oh, Arthur_._” Morgana follows him to the living room, where Arthur’s stopped short at the sight of Gwen and Merlin who are sprawled a bit haphazardly on the couch and floor. Morgana introduces them. Arthur glowers, and Merlin feels his breath catch in his throat from the intensity of the look. Then Arthur flops into an armchair and sighs deeply.

“Give me a drink. I fucking need it.”

Morgana complies without even sniping at him. Gwen lifts an eyebrow at her and Morgana mouths _later_.

 

Merlin kind of can’t take his eyes off Arthur. He’s gloriously good-looking, golden skin, blond hair, light blue eyes, and there’s a rawness to him, a realness. Merlin is lucky that Arthur isn’t focused on him, as that means he can continue watching Arthur without getting that unstoppable urge to go hide. Arthur nurses his drink, grumbles at Morgana and swears about women, until Morgana gets enough around four o’clock in the morning. Gwen has fallen asleep on her lap.

“Oh Arthur, just go find some willing guy instead already,” Morgana says and then proceeds to kindly throwing both him and Merlin out.

 

They find themselves standing outside Morgana’s door, directly opposite one another.

“Want to try to find someplace still open?” Arthur asks. He’s looking at Merlin with something like intent and Merlin quietly panics. It’s too much.

“I… I, um, no, I can’t. I have class. In the morning. Really early.”

“All right then,” says Arthur lightly, “see you around, Merlin,” and stalks down the stairs.

Merlin goes home to punch his pillow and not sleep very much at all.

 

After he’s met Arthur, the time Merlin spends on internet erotica of varying (dubious) literary merit more than doubles over the following days. It’s suddenly much more interesting. And if he happens to find porn with blond, snobbish protagonists more often than not, well, these things happen. Then, he gradually starts to spend less time in front of his computer and more time where Arthur might show up.

 

They keep meeting like that, coincidentally, in the circle around Morgana. Arthur didn’t use to be around this much when Merlin first got to know the girls, but maybe he’s in need of distracting company after that break-up (spectacularly bad, by the sounds of it). This Friday night Merlin is deep in discussion with the girl with the square glasses, who is actually called Helena. The topic of the evening is which historical period was the most open, sexuality-wise. Merlin’s vote is for the Romans.

“Oh no,” says Helena, “simply because you’re so focused on the gay doesn’t mean that it’s the only sexual practice worth taking into consideration.”

Arthur follows the exchange with disbelieving fascination, as is his habit. After a while he declares: “I’ve had my fill of intellectualized porn for the evening, I’m going out. You coming, Merlin? Let’s leave the ladies to it.”

Merlin nods and gets up. Morgana winks at him as they leave, and damn it, why are his hands starting to shake already?

 

They go for karaoke. It’s so silly that Merlin forgets to be nervous all together. He might not be a grand singer, but at least he’s better than Arthur, who alternates between humming vaguely and screeching. Merlin laughs his head off at Arthur’s rendition of Yellow Submarine. He feels almost drunk but he isn’t, he’s giddy with laughter and silliness and the proximity of Arthur.

 

At Arthur’s place they’re supposed to have tea, but they never do get around to drinking it. Merlin is standing by the sink, trying to figure out how Arthur’s teapot works. It’s some fancy thing with an odd press-thingamajig in the middle. Arthur’s next to him, laughing, and then he reaches around Merlin to show him how to take the press apart and where the tealeaves should go. Merlin turns to say something about how ridiculously overcomplicated it is (why not use something as simple and practical as a tea-bag?), but doesn’t get it out of his mouth. Arthur is very, very close. His arm is practically resting on Merlin’s waist, and Merlin is trapped between him and the sink. He’s staring at Merlin’s face in that intent way of his again, like it’s the only thing in the room worth watching. Merlin feels shakily warm, all of a sudden. He leans a little closer, as though closer proximity to Arthur would steady him, and Arthur closes the gap between them entirely and kisses him.

It’s pretty amazing. Merlin wonders what he should do – maybe lick his way into Arthur’s mouth? No, maybe that’s too early. Nibble at his lip? But what if he bites too hard and Arthur doesn’t like it? Better not. So Merlin is still, mind whirring at overspeed, letting Arthur kiss him and wishing he’d never stop.

Arthur draws back, looking confused and somewhat disappointed before his expression shuts off into blankness.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Obviously you don’t want this.”

“No!” exclaims Merlin. “I mean, I do. I really do.”

Arthur looks a bit more alive again. “You weren’t… responding much, though.”

Merlin starts taking great interest in the floor at his feet. He’s sure he’s blushing.

“I haven’t really… you know, before,” he mumbles.

“You mean you actually haven’t been with a guy?” Arthur’s voice is close to mocking, but he still has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and his thumb is moving in small, soft caresses. “I would never have thought,” he continues. “Don’t worry about it. Making out with a guy is still making out, you know, not all that different from doing it with a girl.”

Merlin swallows hard. “I’m afraid I’m awful at it. The first time…” He means to say that the first time everyone sucks at these things, right, and since this is his first he’s bound to be dreadful, but Arthur cuts him off before he gets it out.

“Aw, come on, everyone’s quite lousy at this the first time around. If your first guy had the gall to tell you that you were bad in the sack, you just had the misfortune to fall on a real bastard.”

Merlin looks up. Arthur is smiling at him, and moves his hand to cup Merlin’s burningly hot face.

“God, you almost do look the part of blushing virgin. It’s almost more attractive than your encyclopaedia of sex style…”

“It’s truer, too,” Merlin says without quite intending to.

Arthur gives a small chuckle but doesn’t move away and is back to looking at Merlin avidly, in that almost hungry fashion. Merlin starts to relax. He tries to get Arthur closer, to draw him in, and it feels perfectly right to have his arm draped around Arthur’s neck, so Merlin leaves it there. With his other hand he drags his fingers through Arthur’s hair, mussing it up because he can, and then lets his fingers continue down, mapping out his face. There’s a hint of stubble on his jaw. Merlin skates his knuckles across it. Arthur is breathing shallowly, tense like a bowstring, letting Merlin explore as slowly he wants. Until he seems to go over an edge and presses Merlin hard against the sink and kisses him with all his power focused on getting their bodies as close as possible. Merlin throw himself into it and presses back and forgets himself and they move, and move.

 

Later, feeling pleasantly exhausted and languid, Merlin’s stretched out over Arthur’s bed. He could never decide before if he expected sex to be some mind-blowing, world-changing experience or an awkward exercise with too much bodily fluids involved. A bit of both sounds like a pretty accurate description, he muses. He’d never imagined this, though, the pleasure of simply being allowed to touch and watch as much as he pleases: he hadn’t thought he’d take such delight in tracing slow patterns across Arthur’s chest and watch the way it rises and falls with each breath.

“It seems the first time wasn’t so horrible, after all,” he says.

Arthur starts, opens his eyes wide and turns towards Merlin. He looks like he’s on the verge of speaking, then doesn’t. He only kisses Merlin again, soft with wonder.


End file.
